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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919791">Perception's a Tool</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrictony/pseuds/electrictony'>electrictony</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Feels, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, John Winchester Tries, POV Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Teen Winchesters (Supernatural), Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, Young Winchesters (Supernatural)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:36:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,628</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrictony/pseuds/electrictony</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean had entered the motel room with Sammy's hand in his, a duffel bag on his shoulder. Routine. But John grabbed his empty palm, rough hands swatting him and Sam behind him as he jutted into the room with a gun at ready. It wasn't very unusual, nothing to do with guns was unusual to Dean. But it was John's desperation, the way he slid on quietly. </p><p>(In which, Dean's a perceptive child, but he only understands one of his father's fear when he's twenty-six and seeing the same fear rise in his brother's eyes.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, John Winchester/Mary Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Am I back in this fandom? Yes. It's been a few years but 2014 me is thriving again to bring you some sad angst. It's been a while since I wrote a fic, but early Sam and Dean make my heart hurt.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean remembers being twelve. He was a scrawny kid who loved watching old movies after school. It was the closest thing to fun he had, especially since dad had decided by then that Dean could take good enough care of Sammy that he could leave Dean alone at shady motels for weeks on end.</p><p>He didn't mind it, and honestly, he thinks of that period of his life with awe. It was quiet and he didn't worry as much as he did when he was seven, and he didn't worry as much as he did at seventeen. His memories of that time are calm, and perhaps, that’s why he remembers them vividly.</p><p>One particular memory seems to be resurfacing more frequently recently. A dark room, another unnamed abode that they would leave in three weeks, greeted Dean and his father in Oregon. Dad had seemed to be hunting something new. Something he hadn't encountered before. John had seemed rattled, a little less concrete. Was it possible for his tall father to look smaller? Look as worn as Dean felt now? That night had been one of the first times Dean had noticed how his father was slowly chipping away—almost brittle in the darkness.</p><p>Dean had entered the motel room with Sammy's hand in his, a duffel bag on his shoulder. Routine. But John grabbed his empty palm, rough hands swatting him and Sam behind him as he jutted into the room with a gun at ready. It wasn't very unusual, nothing to do with guns was unusual to Dean. But it was John's desperation, the way he slid on quietly.</p><p>Gazing at the darkness with a shard of fear, a piece of worry that Dean thought didn't exist. John had turned the lights on, looked at the ceiling with something like dread. And then the very next moment, he lowered his gun, as if burying some old fear away. Locking it inside to become the father Dean knew.</p><p>It was as if his father was reliving something. Like when Dean would watch a movie he’d seen already, knowing the words and saying them before even the actors could. But maybe, his father was worried because the creature they were hunting was one that could have been waiting for them in this dark and empty room.</p><p>He had decided it was a worthwhile question to ask. If his father was worried the creature could find them in the random ramshackle room, then it was Dean's duty to keep a lookout.</p><p>He'd need all the facts, especially if Dad was going to leave him to take care of Sam.</p><p>"Dad, are you worried that the monster can come here? In this room?" Dean asked finally, after waiting for Sammy to fall asleep. It was almost twenty minutes past midnight when Sam finally closed the book he’d been reading and fell asleep.</p><p>At Dean’s question his father drew his eyes away from a local newspaper, with a soft smile, he said, "No,  Dean. Whatever we're hunting is an outdoor creature, it's definitely not going to climb stairs and find it's way here,"</p><p>Dean nodded.</p><p>That was good, Sammy and he could be alone here while their father hunted.  They'd only have to take the usual precautions, nothing more than some salt lines would be needed. </p><p>He should've let the matter drop at that, but Dean was cautious even back then. The way his father had reacted meant he was scared, or maybe just worried about something else. He didn't like the idea of something scaring his father.</p><p>If dad was worried, then Dean couldn't imagine how dangerous this creature was. That’s why despite knowing his father wouldn’t like to be asked twice, Dean sat down next to his father, his toes barely touching the floor. Keeping his posture straight, he asked again, “But you looked scared, dad. You looked up at the ceiling and pushed me and Sam behind you.”</p><p>For a moment, he didn’t make eye contact with his father, expecting his father’s anger. After all, he’d just said his dad looked scared, and dad never wanted to Dean to be weak so what would John think of Dean calling him scared?</p><p>He steadied his hands by keeping them stiffly on the table in front, when his father spoke, “Dean. You have nothing to worry about, it’s just that I sometimes see monsters everywhere,”</p><p>“Everywhere?”</p><p>“It’s not that simple to understand, Dean, but think of it like this,” John paused, “The first monster I ever saw is still out there, and until I find it, I’ll always think it’s comin’ for us.”</p><p>Dean swallowed and nodded. That didn’t sound too good, and now Dean felt even more worried, “Is it the monster that almost <em>killed</em> Sammy?”</p><p>He knew his voice was loud now, and his hands were shaking again so he hid them behind his back, folding them unnaturally. He almost said the “monster that killed mom” but even Dean knew that it was easier to call that monster the one that “almost killed Sammy”.</p><p>His father didn’t get up and console Dean, he barely nodded and looked up again. He didn’t stop staring at the small stain on the ceiling that night, and Dean went to bed without another word. Looking up, confused but determined never to bring it up again.</p><p>-------</p><p>Dean was twenty-six when he realized why his father’s eyes had been so haunted every time he looked up at those white ceilings. He saw that same haunted look when Sam went to bed every night. </p><p>This time Sam's empty eyes aren't a puzzle to Dean, so he doesn't ask. After all, he remembers the white-hot flames that blazed above Sam's head, a cloud of loss looming so close over his head. It doesn't take a genius to finally <em>see. </em></p><p>Dean doesn't say anything this time around. There's nothing to say, except to see that John and Sam have had always had a little too much in common anyway.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"But the problem with Sam is that he always likes to make Dean believe that everything is fixable, that nothing is crumbling or falling apart."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Set during S1 and is basically just sadness and pain through Dean's eyes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been seventeen days since Jessica was murdered in front of Sam’s eyes. Dean keeps count of the days—waiting, and watching. For all purposes, Sam is Sam. He reads the newspaper every morning, scrawls through the internet and Dad’s journal with the same intensity that he used to before. Which is to say, Sam reads into the night, always keeps a lookout for a potential case.</p><p>            In every way possible, it feels like Sam had never left at all. When Sam would be chugging down hot coffee without a second thought, only to realize what he’d done, he would quietly cool his tongue like he did when he was a teen. A younger Dean would make fun of Sam’s carelessness, but now, he just watches.</p><p>            He watches when Sam just looks out the window for hours on end when they’re driving in the Impala. Not even laughing when Dean takes the wrong detour twice. But it’s fine, as long as Sam doesn’t crumple into himself, Dean can take care of him.</p><p>            But the problem with Sam is that he always likes to make Dean believe that everything is fixable, that nothing is crumbling or falling apart. Every action is calculated, and every smile is weighed. If Dean had to guess, which he often did, he was perhaps the only open book in the family. Sam hid behind a wall, all red bricks and cement with no cracks to jump in through. But before he had left for Stanford, that wall was only around when John was with them. Alone with Dean, Sam was all windows—flashing with honesty that Dean had taken for granted.</p><p>            The absence of knowing Sam worried him, it was an ache that he felt hitting him when Sam twisted in his bed, only a few inches away.  He was so close, and yet Dean could only guess at what Sam’s nightmares must be like. With a missing father, a dead girlfriend, and a brother who did nothing to help, who could guess?</p><p>            Dean was almost asleep when Sam woke up, gasping, eyes widening. Dean grabbed his pistol. His hands were steady with muscle memory, and he looked at the room, suddenly all too aware. He was hyper-aware of Sam now, but he could sense that Sam was breathing heavy yet lying down still. As if there was nothing here.</p><p>            As if Sam had just had a nightmare.</p><p>            Which he probably had, Dean reasoned as he put his gun away and finally looked at his brother, as soon as he turned on the dim night light.</p><p>            “Hey, Sammy?”</p><p>            Sam didn’t look at Dean, but he did blink a little and finally tore his gaze from the ceiling. He looked through Dean, his eyes unfocused and Dean knew right then and there where he’d seen that look before.</p><p>            He had seen it in the glassy eyes of his father when he’d sometimes come back from a hunt, all jittery and staring at the ceiling. Dean knew that look so well because it was the only piece of his father that reminded him that John was human.</p><p>            “Sam?” Dean tried again and found himself surprised when Sam nodded at him. He was smart enough to know what Dean was thinking but didn’t want to put into words. <em>You’re dreaming of her, aren’t you? Jessica?</em></p><p>            Of course, Dean didn’t ask Sam that out loud. Because asking Sam meant that his little brother would have to acknowledge his loss. Instead, he gave Sam the only advice he could, “Turn around and sleep on your belly, dude,” he paused, his words felt brittle even to him so he added, “It’s going to be alright, Sammy,”</p><p>            He hoped Sam understood that he meant that for everything, not just the nightmares.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you for the comments and the kudos on the last chapter! They really mean a lot to me &lt;3 I think I'll write one more concluding chapter from Sam's POV.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions! They make me smile and want to write more, plus, if you want we can cry about Dean seeing his brother live through the Sam trauma that changed his father together in another chapter! Hopefully, I'll write another part!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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